


At Gunpoint

by Xanister



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, just happy fuzzy feelings, no one likes Alexei, proto Rick/Vyvyan, really big shotgun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanister/pseuds/Xanister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as part of the Bastard Squad Secret Santa Exchange. The prompt was Rick and Vyvyan at gunpoint with their hands in the air. Set during the episode "Sick" with a neat little twist. No actual relationship but there's something beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Gunpoint

Rick stood in the bank queue next to Vyvyan, wearing his usual light gray shirt, filthy blazer adorned with badges and a red beret perched atop his head. He was clutching the papers that had come that morning along with a lawyer’s note decreeing that he was to receive a small amount of money restitution if he never returned to college property again and didn’t speak of the incident that had occurred within its hallowed walls. He always knew he would get money because of his brilliance. 

Vyvyan after ripping open the letter as soon as it had arrived and quickly reading it (he had assumed it was for Mike and had been prepared to explain it all out for him thus saving him precious time reading it) had instead taunted Rick with it. He had refused to give him the letter, even threatening him with violence. They had settled on Vyv accompanying him to the bank and receiving payment for his services in not injuring this morning. Rick had humoured him hoping when the pigs attacked them for having money but not being fascists they would go for the punk despite how hard and amazing he looked. It had nothing to do with wanting company while he was out of the flat. It certainly had nothing to do with wanting to spend time with Vyvyan. 

“I’m going to spend all the money on lager and girls, I’ll entertain them properly of course, and they’ll all want to sleep with me.” Rick bragged.

Vyvyan snorted and shook his head. “You’re going to buy another Cliff Richards record Rick and cry into your watery tea because you’re such a girl.” 

Rick didn’t rise to the bait, instead he let out a puff of air and smoothed out the creases in the papers, in his best mature, adult voice he said, “I understand you’re jealous Vyvyan and that’s perfectly normal but–“

His flat mate grabbed some businessman’s briefcase from the queue next to them and hit Rick with it upside the head knocking him to the ground and then tossing it back at the startled man it belonged to. The businessman seemed terrified to say anything and the tri-hawked medical student glared in his direction stopping any argument. “Stop being so nice Rick, it’s disgusting.” 

Rick struggled to stand, eventually using the rope and pole system that divided the queues for help. He opened his mouth to speak, not seeing or hearing the man with a black stocking on his head that had entered the bank through the large doors behind them with a large shotgun and a big cloth sack painted with a pound symbol on it.

Rick heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked before anything else. Living with the kind people he did it wasn’t that strange to know what certain weapons sounded like. In fact survival and fewer trips to A&E depended on basic knowledge of weaponry, explosives and chemistry. 

Despite the low murmuring, “Get on the ground! This is a robbery!” rang through clear as a bell. The gunman’s voice hit the air like a shot and out of the corner of his eye Rick saw Vyvyan remained standing. The People’s Poet had always ensured his own survival by doing exactly what others told him to do. He looked around the bank to see there were still a few people standing; some of them frozen to the spot they had been in when the gunman had announced this was a robbery. Most had been smart like Rick had but some seemed unable to actually do what the man with the black stocking over his head was asking of them.

“I said on the ground, are you deaf or somethin’ my son?!” The man roared at Vyvyan, Rick swore he almost sounded like their landlord or one of his relatives. He sounded very familiar.

Rick tugged at Vyv’s trouser leg and the punk looked down. Rick was staring up at him, his eyes trying to say ‘it’s okay, we’re going to be fine’ and instead looked more akin to a cartoon character about to face a firing squad. “Just do what he says Vyvyan!” Rick hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes darting to the robber and then back to the floor. He tugged again almost pulling the trousers down as he grinned at the robber, giving platitudes in the form of apologies. “Don’t mind Vyvyan here Mr. Robber, Sir, he’s not really that bright and doesn’t understand English all that well.” 

Vyvyan looked confused but then his expression turned to anger, his face tightening and his lip curling up towards his nose ring into a sneer. “You knob end! Boring, boring knob end!” He bent down and grabbed the front of Rick’s shirt drawing the other man closer and sneering in his face.

Rick puffed up a bit seemingly unfazed by his flat mate’s anger, in fact he knew how to cope with this and felt a little calmer in such a familiar and violent situation. “Oh very mature Vyvyan, we’re being held hostage, at gunpoint, and you’re calling me names!” 

Vyv brought a fist back to hit Rick but reality stepped in and the large man with the shotgun became more important. The robber stuck a gun in Rick’s face and he shrieked in horror, jerking out of Vyvyan’s grip on his gray button up shirt, curling away from the firearm and shuffling backwards. Any pretense of being tough was immediately taken away. 

“This stops now, yeah?!” The robber fired a shot into the ceiling and some people across the bank lobby yelled in fear as plaster and drywall rained to the floor. A few of the occupants waiting on their knees with their hands in the air began to talk, asking to be let go and promising they wouldn’t say anything to the police. Another warning shot to the ceiling and the mumbling stopped. “That’s better. Now I’m going to get all the money and leave and no one gets hurt! Now the rest of you on the ground, alright?!” 

The large man pointed the gun at Vyvyan and the ginger haired college student raised both hands in the air and with a small movement of the cocked gun dropped to his knees next to Rick. Rick was relieved. 

“Not so brave now are you Vyvyan?” Rick whispered as the robber walked towards the bank teller window. He actually regretted saying that as soon as the words were out of his mouth but he kept up the tough façade that everyone admired about him and the girls went crazy over. 

“Shut up prissy pants! You yelled like a little girl!” Vyvyan said rather loudly, and they both looked to see if it had drawn attention to them. The robber was busy arguing with a woman at the teller window that was repeating, “good morning sir” to him. 

The robber had his back to them and the shotgun sat propped against the teller window next to him. Rick had an idea, a brilliant idea, where he could save the day and impress Vyvyan and then Vyvyan would actually be his friend instead of just his flat mate. Oh, and he’d impress a load of chicks… women, he’d impress women and the rest would follow. He drew himself up and leaned in close to Vyvyan who immediately shied away a bit at the close proximity. “Vyvyan I have an idea.” 

“Brilliant, is it violent and does it involve throwing you on the gun?” 

“What? No, that’s a silly idea. No I’m going to sneak up and take his gun like one of those American action stars and he’ll have to surrender and we can call the pigs.”

Vyvyan was silent and had a shocked expression. This slowly changed into a look of amusement ending into a small smile at the corners of his mouth. “So you’re telling me, that you, scaredy-pants, girly Rick is going to sneak up there and take his gun and hold him hostage until the pigs show up.” 

Rick nodded quickly and Vyvyan laughed a short derisive little laugh. “Do I have to become the Easter bunny? Maybe I’ll turn into a giraffe and watch out for back-up.” 

“Don’t be silly Vyvyan, no one wants to be a giraffe.” He rolled his eyes and looked back at the robber and the still unprotected gun. “Listen, just make sure he’s distracted, okay?” 

Although it looked like the punk wanted to protest, he didn’t and gave a couple quick nods of his starred forehead. He was going to trust Vyvyan Basterd possibly with his life. Rick felt a weird little sensation in his stomach when Vyvyan agreed with him, it wasn’t unpleasant but it was weird, warm and fuzzy and interesting. He stayed quiet, slowly stood but stayed low and began to creep towards the gun.

The bank robber, at this point he had heard him introduce himself as “Brian Damage” and that name was so familiar, was busy counting money into the marked money bag. Rick felt like a proper hero even as panic set in when Brian began to turn towards the gun to retrieve it. Fear trickled like ice through his veins making his lips dry and his skin to break into goose bumps where the air touched it. Somehow he fought through it and crept closer. 

When he was sure Damage was going to see him, one of the hostages had complained and Brian was turning to yell at them when he heard Vyvyan yell something on the opposite side of the bank. Damage pivoted on his heels away from the gun and Rick. 

Rick grabbed the gun quickly and brought it up to his shoulder, he rested the butt in the crook where his arm met his body. He wasn’t sure how he knew that’s where it went but it felt right. He felt powerful and confident now. 

“Hey Damage! Guess this makes me the boss now,” Rick called smugly. He felt a small surge of warm fuzzies when he saw his friend perk up. It was only heightened when Damage who had Vyv by the denim jacket loosened his tight grip. 

Brian Damage let go of Vyvyan and started towards Rick, his body more akin to a lumbering animal than a human being. The People’s Poet wanted to put down the gun and run but he didn’t, he felt for the trigger and curled his finger around it. He saw Vyvyan move out-of-the-way, good, he thought to himself, and when Damage didn’t stop and crossed the invisible line Rick had painted on the floor in his mind he squeezed the trigger. 

The sound of the gunshot woke him where he was lying on the floor of their grubby flat. He saw Neil, Mike, Vyvyan and Brian Damage swim into view and he stretched his arms out in surrender even if he had saved the day in his very realistic dream.

He remembered the feeling he had when Vyv had agreed with him and schooled his features as he struggled to stand without using his arms or hands. He wanted that happy warm feeling in his gut again. 

The dream fizzled into the back of his memory as the horrible prospect of Neil’s parents coming around for tea in seconds became reality. He’d dwell on it later in private and try to make sense of it -- provided the very real Brian Danger Balowski didn’t blow him apart.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally titled "Rick Saves the Daydream" but obviously that ruins the whole setup. I think it's clever.


End file.
